Growing Together
by Fujiwara no Seimei
Summary: Hikaru and Akira live together, but it's not easy. While Waya and Isumi can offer advice, it's up to Hikaru to solve the mounting difficulties between them. Hikaru x Akira, Waya x Isumi. Strong language, shounen-ai, adult themes ch4 and 5. Complete.
1. Routine

"Growing Together" follows my previous fiction, "God's Reward." However, it is not necessary to have read the prequel to follow this one.

Growing Together: Chapter 1

Rated M 16+ for strong language and mature topics.

•°•°•°•

"Shindou. What. Are. You. Doing?"

Hikaru looked up, puzzled. "I'm making a volcano."

Touya twitched, then closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"On my _kitchen table_?"

Hikaru blinked, bits of plaster dripping off of his hands and onto the wet mound of newspaper and wire on the table.

He smiled smugly. "_Our_ kitchen table."

That was pretty much what it was like living together.

"Yeah, " Hikaru said into the phone as he scrubbed plaster off of his hands. "I knew I was in trouble when he called me by my last name, but I didn't shut up in time." He scrunched his face in determination as he scrubbed murderously at the bits stuck in his calluses and fingernails.

"So are you going to make nice before or after our game?" Isumi said from the other end.

"Oh God, after. He has a game with Ogata, then he will go hide at his mother's place, and I'll have to go over there and convince him that coming back to our apartment won't kill him."

"Won't it?" Isumi asked, almost too honestly.

Hikaru frowned at Isumi's disloyalty, but replied, "Not as long as I don't cook."

Shindou Hikaru (Honinbou) and Touya Akira (Meijin II, Judan) were both go title holders at the ripe age of 19. They had been rivals in the game since the age of 12. The circumstances for the consummation of their rivalry were quite out of the ordinary, for sure, but they had grown to be good friends because of it. After Akira's father died, they had become indispensable pillars of support for one another.

It made sense at the time when they turned 18 for them to move in together. Akira's mother would move back in with her family, having no other children to raise, and while Hikaru's relationship with his parents had dramatically improved since Akira came into his life, he was still the type that could not wait to break out onto his own.

Since they were both Pros, they had enough money for a pretty comfortable apartment. And in truth, what seemed like a good idea was a good idea, for both of them, professionally and emotionally. But Hikaru did seem to have created a sport of driving Akira absolutely insane.

Hikaru's afternoon game with Isumi Shinichirou was a good one. Isumi, while essentially lagging slightly behind Hikaru in skill, was good at critically challenging himself, and had risen to 3 dan. Hikaru was now 6 dan and rising, but he understood that he too was once a 3-dan– in fact, that was the level he was at when he miraculously won the Honinbou title– and never underestimated him. He respected Isumi, and he was not only a good challenger, but a valuable friend.

Hikaru trounced him, for sure, but it was a good game. They were discussing it, afterward, when Waya came home.

Waya flopped his bag on the floor and sighed.

"Oh my _God_, Shinichirou, Ochi is _such_ a bitch!"

"Hey Waya," Hikaru called.

"Oh, Shindou! You're here," he responded, kicking off his shoes and stumbling into the sitting room.

"Did you beat him?" Isumi asked, cooly.

"Beat? Oh, no, I wasn't playing him today. I played Abe-sensei today. But Ochi was still being a bitch."

Waya went into the kitchen, stretching his arms.

"Shin-chaaaan, did you make lunch?" he called, sweetly.

Isumi's eyebrow twitched. "No, Yoshitaka. I've been playing. There's leftover fried rice in the fridge. You can heat that up."

Hikaru observed that while Waya used Isumi's first name when he wanted something, Isumi used it the same way Akira used Hikaru's _last_ name. Exasperatedly.

They resumed their game discussion, and when finished, they moved up to the couch before Waya returned with his lunch.

"So what did Ochi do to be a bitch?" Hikaru asked.

"Ah," Waya said, pausing blow a pile of steaming rice, "He does this thing lately," another pause to shovel said rice in his mouth, "Where he makes these snide, passive-agressive, post-game remarks about my sexual orientation. In public."

"Shit," Hikaru said. "Isn't he, like ten? How does he know that anyway? You only told a couple of people."

"We didn't tell him," Isumi took over, preventing Waya from continuing to talk with a mouth full of rice, "But he is extraordinarily observant."

"Yeah," Hikaru said. "Akira told me about how quickly Ochi learned he was being used to gage my strength in the pro exam. Kid is _scary_."

"So he says," Waya continued, "I noticed you beat Abe-sensei today. I was surprised, considering how much you enjoy- ahem- being _beneath_ older men."

"Fuck hiiiiiiim!" Hikaru shouted.

"That's not even true," Isumi mused to himself, quietly.

"Dude," Hikaru sneered. "Too. Much. Info."

•°•°•°•

Hikaru rang the doorbell at Akira's mother's family's home. He was used to this system, but also kind of grumpy because this place was about 45 minutes away. Despite this, he was not deterred from making the stupid decisions that landed him here about twice a week. In the end, if he didn't bring Akira back to the apartment, it would fall into ruin almost immediately.

The door opened.

"Ah, Shindou-kun," Akira's mother said, "Please come in."

"Thanks. You're looking well, Akiko-san," he lied.

Akira's mother had lost a lot of weight and beauty after her husband died. She had certainly become much more comfortable after she moved out her empty home and into her family's, but she remained looking deathly thin.

"Thank you, Shindou-kun," she replied.

"What do you want, Shindou?" Akira said as Hikaru walked in to the livingroom. He sat on the couch with a flop and picked up the TV remote.

"Oh, not much. Just thought I'd come over and watch the game with your mom. So what are _you_ doing here?"

On cue, Akira cracked a smile, remembering why he bothered to put up with Hikaru in the first place.

Hikaru grinned in return, with great relief, as it usually took three or four tries before he got Akira's irritation to crack.

"I hate you, Shindou," Akira lied through his smile.

"You too, jerk," Hikaru said, turning on the television.

They ate dinner with the family and promptly left afterwards. Akira's mother asked them to stay for tea, but Akira said no, he had to get home and study his game. Hikaru noticed, as they left, that Akira had not brought his overnight bag, as he was wont to do when Hikaru chased him out of the house. Had he planned on staying at all?

Hikaru wondered how long this would go on– the teasing, nagging, chasing. He hoped forever.

They got to the train platform just in time to get on, and managed to find seats because dinner had kept them past rush hour. As they settled in, and the train began moving, Hikaru looked at Akira. As he had gotten older, Akira had grown both stronger and more elegant- almost regal. He held himself with such composure that he was almost like a noble prince from a fairytale. As the train chugged on into the fading red evening light, he thought to himself, "I am so honored to be his rival. And his friend." But when he went to speak, all that came out was, "Why do we do this?"

And Akira turned, with every ounce of that elegant grace as ever, and replied, "Why do you make plaster science projects in our kitchen?"

Hikaru ached. There was no malice in Akira's reply, only a familiar rapport that was like a cruel language only they shared. Hikaru wanted to tell Akira that at this moment, he felt like Akira was the most amazing person in the world. The sunset did beautiful things to Akira's skin, Akira's eyes. He was trapped in a moment of beauty and peace. But how do you say something like that to your best friend without sounding wierd, or pathetic? It wasn't really Hikaru's style to fawn over his male rival.

So in the end, he smiled, and said, "Because the internet told me to."

•°•°•°•

End of chapter one.

Chapter two: Akira changes the routine on Hikaru, who can barely keep up. Hikaru will had to make some life adjustments if he wants Akira to stay in his life.


	2. Compromise

Growing Together: Chapter 2

When they arrived home, Hikaru and Akira ignored the kitchen, the source of their earlier argument, and went straight to settle into the sitting room. Hikaru turned on the television and Akira sat down at the goban and started replaying his game from that morning.

"Oh yeah, Akira, how'd the game with Ogata go?" Hikaru asked.

"I won," Akira replied, continuing to put down moves.

"Ah. That's no surprise."

Hikaru continued to flip through stations. It wasn't that nothing good was playing, really, rather that Hikaru didn't like watching television all that much in the first place. But he needed to maintain the routine. It was the only one he could depend on. He shifted his weight on the couch, and sighed.

"If you spend your nights watching TV, you'll never rise to 7 dan."

"Yeah, yeah," Hikaru said, pretending to be interested in a news report.

"I'm going to be Gosei soon, Hikaru," Akira said.

"Enjoy it while it lasts."

"I will," Akira replied through a smug smile that Hikaru could only see the corner of.

Hikaru loved Akira's sneaky smile. Especially because it was something he never showed to anyone else. Akira was too professional to tease anyone outside of their home.

Having pretended long enough to not know that Akira's teasing was an invitation to play, Hikaru shut off the television and said, "Alright, I'm coming."

•°•°•°•

The next morning, something was different.

"Mornin'" Hikaru mumbled, rubbing his eyes sleepily as the shuffled into the kitchen.

"Good morning, Hikaru," Akira replied. He was standing at the counter, drinking tea and reading weekly go.

Hikaru immediately realized that nothing was cooking.

"What's for breakfast, Akira?"

Akira looked up quickly, with a grin, as though he had been waiting for Hikaru to ask that very question.

With a lofty, teasing voice, he chirped, "Hikaru, how am I to make breakfast when there's still a volcano on my table?"

Hikaru blinked, fully realizing that he was being challenged. At 7:45 in the morning.

"Carefully?" Hikaru offered helpfully.

Color rose in Akira's face. He forced himself to maintain his pleasant smile, despite it. He was already behind. As soon as Hikaru realized what game they were playing, it was over. Akira's next move was usually to storm out. But he stood fast.

"You know, since you've taken over my kitchen, I thought it only fair that you take me out for breakfast. What do you say?"

Hikaru's mouth hung open. This was a move he had never seen before. Akira was holding his ground. And Hikaru's lead was being completely obliterated.

There was nothing he could do but oblige.

When they went out, Akira was positively beaming. He remained happy all throughout the train ride and the meal– and was Akira _humming_ over his rice a pickled vegetables? Hikaru wasn't sure whether he should be overjoyed or weirded out. In the end, the joy won. Seeing Akira smile was, again, one of Hikaru's most treasured moments. Even if the smile was a sinister celebration of his own domestic victory. At one point, when Akira looked out the window and brushed his hair out of his face in a certain, magical way that made Hikaru's heart stop, Hikaru felt like mentioning how much he loved Akira's smile. But again, it seemed to fall into the category of "stuff you don't say to your male roommate," and thus remained unspoken.

It got better, too, when Hikaru dropped him off on the block where his tutoring appointment was. Akira turned to Hikaru, smiling, and took Hikaru's hands in his.

"Thanks for a wonderful morning, Hikaru," he said.

"Y...yeah..." Hikaru replied, entranced. He was locked in a warm and fuzzy moment and saw no way to escape.

Akira gave Hikaru's palms a gentle, quick squeeze, before turning and gracefully sauntering down the sidewalk.

And Hikaru remained stuck to his spot for a few long moments, unable to move on account of the paralyzing effects of the aforementioned warm and fuzzies.

So naturally, all day, Hikaru was bothered. Since he had nothing to do for the rest of the morning, he dialed Waya to see if he was home. Luckily, he was.

"Uh oh, Shindou," Waya said, handing Hikaru a soda. "Sounds to me like he's getting tired of your crap."

Hikaru followed Waya into the laundry room. "What?"

"I'm serious, watch out. This will be the first of many retaliations. This is just the beginning."

"Whatever, Waya," Hikaru said indignantly. "he was just too lazy to make breakfast."

Waya put down the towel he was folding and shot Hikaru an unamused stare.

"Puh-leeze, Shindou," he said. "Since _when_ has Touya been _lazy_?"

It was a good point.

Hikaru played an informal game with Kuwabara at 1:00, and at 3:30, stopped by his old favorite go salon for a quick hello before moving on to his paid tutoring at a school. He raced back home afterwards to make his own study group at 7:30, where he was now the teacher, flanked by Nase (shodan), Fuku (who had still not passed the pro exam), and two fresh, young insei (Kuno-kun and Tajima-kun.) The study session lasted a while, and Hikaru almost cried when he discovered that they had all eaten _before_ arriving. Akira returned home sometime in the middle of the session, peeked in a greeted the group, and then retired to his room to study kifu and drink tea and be inconspicuous. When the students left, it was almost 10 PM and Hikaru was starving.

He thought twice about asking Akira to make something, after that morning's failed battle, and made a couple of cups of intant ramen ("I wish you wouldn't keep that awful stuff in the house," Akira had been known to say, to which Hikaru would reply, "Well, sorry to be proletariat.") When he was finished, he proceeded on to Akira's room, letting himself in.

"Shindou?" Akira said, looking up from the stack of kifu he was examining while sitting at his desk. "Don't you knock?"

"Akira, honestly, why would you even ask a crazy question like that?" he replied, flopping onto the floor, picking up the _Weekly Go_ Akira had been reading earlier and flipping through it.

After a good twenty minutes of sitting, Hikaru said, "Hey, Akira, can I use the bath first?"

"Sure," Akira said, not bothering to look up.

Hikaru left the room and returned only a moment later.

"There's no towels."

Akira looked up at him. "And?"

"And? Akira...d...don't you usually...?"

"Ah, you know, Shindou" Akira said, slapping his thigh as if he had just remembered something, "turns out, I couldn't find any towels to wash. Funniest thing."

"A...Akira," Hikaru mumbled nervously, reading that Akira's attack energy was at the same level it was in the morning, "they're...where they always are."

"Oh, and where is that, Shindou?"

"M...my floor."

Akira's eyes lit up. "Oh, really? Well, silly me, this whole time, I was looking in the_ hamper_. You know, I don't know why I thought they would be in _there_. Actually, if you think of it, maybe put them there next time you get a chance, in case I _forget _to look on your bedroom floor again."

Hikaru was dumbstruck. He did not like this. Not _one bit_. There was nothing to counter with. His attack lines had all been stifled.

The best thing he could think of to do was to go clean his volcano up off of the kitchen table. And put his laundry in the hamper. And go to bed.

The next morning, Hikaru woke to the smell of a full breakfast. He was thankful, as they both had a full day, and a full couple of days after, of matches, appointments, and plans that kept them from sharing concurrent down time until the end of the week.

•°•°•°•

"I don't know how much more of this I can take, Waya," Hikaru said, sighing and flopping onto his friend's couch.

"I told you," Waya said unsympathetically, mashing his Playstation controller.

"He's gotten me to sort the recycling, clean the livingroom, organize the library, bring his mother cookies, put my laundry in the right place, and buy him dinner. Twice."

Waya paused his game and gave his customary unapologetic glare. "Shindou. Prior to Touya's new...mission, did you do _anything_ around the house?"

Hikaru thought honestly for a moment.

"No, not really."

Waya sighed and shook his head, resuming his game. "You're a dick, Shindou."

"Shut up. What the hell. What's with the meals, though? It's not like he can't afford to eat out whenever he likes."

"Yeah, the chores I understand, but I don't know about the dates."

Hikaru looked at Waya incredulously. "Don't call them dates."

"Why not?"

Hikaru shot his best 'what the hell' face at Waya, who wasn't looking anyway. "Because they're _not_."

"Whatever," Waya said while slamming his finger furiously on the "x" button. 'Defensive, aren't we,' he thought.

Isumi came home a few minutes later, and as he came in, it became apparent he was on the phone.

"I know," he said, taking off his shoes,"somehow it's been a really busy week for all of us. I feel like I haven't even seen Yoshitaka in days."

Waya turned at that, wondering who the hell he was talking to that would warrant the use of his first name.

"Of course, no, no problem," Isumi continued, walking across the room to the other men. "It was nice catching up with you too." He looked at Hikaru and handed him the phone.

"It's for you."

"What?" Hikaru said, grabbing the phone. "Hello?"

"Hikaru! I'm making curry. You should come home."

"A...Akira? You're home?" Hikaru was already standing up and gathering his things. "I thought you weren't free again until tomorrow!"

"My five-o-clock got sick and cancelled. So I'm home."

"Awesome! I missed y-" Hikaru stopped. Did he almost say that out loud?

"What was that, Hikaru? You mumbled."

"Oh, nothing, I'll be there soon, okay!"

"Hikaru, one more thing-" Akira said.

"Yeah?"

"Charge your damned cell phone."

After the subsequent "click," Hikaru slowly remembered that he was talking on Isumi's phone. And then, that he was in Isumi and Waya's home. He looked up mid shoe-wrangling and saw the two standing above him with arms crossed.

"_I missed you_?" Isumi said, eyebrow raised.

Hikaru suddenly got indignant, putting the phone down and pulling his other shoe on. "I was gonna say 'I missed your cooking,' but I thought it might get me in trouble."

Isumi and Waya exchanged unconvinced glances.

"Anyway, later guys!" Hikaru said, running out the door.

Isumi leaned down to pick up his phone, and Waya said, "That is _so_ not what he was going to say."

When Hikaru got home, Akira was almost done making dinner.

"I'm home!" Hikaru called.

"Nice timing!" Akira called back.

Hikaru hopped into the kitchen and saw that Akira was wearing uncharacteristically little.

"Almost done," Akira said, as Hikaru took inventory. Akira was wearing a black t-shirt, and over long khaki shorts he had tied his black half-apron. He was barefoot, and his hair was pulled back sloppily in a barette.

Akira put down his stirring spoon, and turned to Hikaru.

"Aren't you hot?" Askira asked, wiping his forhead with his wrist.

"N...no," Hikaru said, suddenly self-conscious. "I'm not cooking, though."

"I'm glad you're home," Akira said, warmly.

"Yeah," Hikaru replied. "Me too."

Hikaru's senses then seemed to move in show motion as Akira waltzed over to him and picked up his hands. Smiling, he gave them that little, communicative squeeze, then let go and went to put out the dishes.

Hikaru had his customary, introspective pause, then. This hand squeezing thing- it was the third time. Once after that breakfast, and once after he was forced to buy dinner after Hikaru didn't do the dishes. And now. Akira did it so casually, as if it were no more uncommon than saying hello.

Akira paused mid-setting. "Hikaru? Are you okay?"

He looked down at his hands, and then back at his friend. "What...was that?" he asked before he could stop himself.

Akira suddenly looked down, pretending to be very concerned with how the cups and bowls were lined up. "Ah, that's...it's nothing, Hikaru. I won't do that anymore."

Hikaru stared blankly. Suddenly, some deep down compulsion make him blurt out-

"Don't!" He paused. "Don't...stop."

Akira dropped a pair of chopsticks with a loud clatter on the table.

The two stared at one another in a deafening silence for a long moment. When sound returned, in the form of boiling-over curry, Akira turned quickly and said "Yeah," proceeding to remove the curry pot from the stove.

Hikaru's heart was pounding. He wasn't sure what had just happened, but some neglected part of his heart was very happy he hadn't messed it up.

•°•°•°•

Things relaxed over the next week. Hikaru had adjusted to doing his share of the housework, and actually, picked up more than his share later on as Akira prepared for his fifth and final Gosei title match against Ogata on Saturday. There was high pressure, considering they were tied at two matches each, and while Akira was always composed in public, he did let the pressure show through a little when he was at home.

On Friday night, Akira was holed up in his room, reviewing games Ogata had played over the last year. At eight, Hikaru snuck in and tapped Akira on the shoulder.

"Oh! Hikaru. I didn't hear you come in."

"Here," Hikaru said, putting a cup of tea down on the desk.

"Oh, Hikaru, you didn't have to..."

"It helps you relax," Hikaru interrupted. "But you didn't have it yesterday either, and I thought maybe you were just too busy studying to make it."

Hikaru had begun to realize what great the impact little gestures had.

"Thanks, Hikaru."

"You should drink that and get some rest," Hikaru said, turning to leave.

"Hikaru..." Akira said, raising a hand after him.

"Y...yeah?"

"Play with me?"

Hikaru put his hands on his hips. "You need to rest."

"Just one. It'll help me relax."

Hikaru sighed, and went back to pull out Akira's board.

"Sure."

The next day was frantic. Hikaru wasn't sure why Akira was so stressed out- it was unlike him to be. Akira was usually so confident that there was never room for stress. By the time they had made it out of the house, Akira had resumed his public demeanor of cool, confident composure. The trip over was mostly in silence.

When the made it to the block across the street from the institute, Akira noticed after a few steps that Hikaru wasn't following.

"Hikaru, aren't you coming?"

Hikaru waved his hand. "I'll hang back for a few minutes. Once you get over there, it'll be pictures and reporters and stuff. I don't want to get in the way."

"But you're going to watch, right?" Akira said, nervously.

"Wha- of course, stupid. I'll go into the viewing room a few minutes after you go over there. Isumi will probably be there too."

"Okay," Akira said. Hikaru was concerned, because the stress was showing on Akira's face again.

"Hey," Hikaru said. Akira turned back. "What's going on? You're on edge, that's not like you before a title match."

Akira sighed. "It's... that the Judan and Gosei were the titles that Ogata took from my father after he retired. I took the Judan already, but, knowing Ogata..."

"He's going to fight you really hard to keep the Gosei."

"It's the last connection he has to my father. His teacher."

Hikaru's subconscious suddenly spurred him to do something he'd never planned on doing. He grabbed Akira's hands. And he gave them a quick squeeze.

"You can do it," Hikaru whispered.

Hikaru watched Akira's eyes grow wide, and then his cheeks turn pink. He smiled a gentle smile, and squeezed back.

"Thanks," he said, his composure full of renewed confidence.

Hikaru watched Akira cross the street with his usual dignity and grace.

He wasn't sure what part of his brain told him that squeezing Akira's hands was the right thing to do, but he was glad it did.

He wandered over to a vending machine to get a soda before heading over to the viewing room to watch what would soon become another legendary battle.

•°•°•°•

End of chapter 2.

In chapter 3: Who wins the Gosei game? As Hikaru learns more about how he can support Akira, Waya has a talk with Hikaru about what those little hand-squeezing gestures might mean. He might need them more than ever, as a new tragedy looms over Akira.


	3. Fear

It was heartbreaking to watch.

"I can't believe it," Isumi had said, wide eyed at the viewing monitor. "No matter how many times I count, he..."

Hikaru had jumped up in the middle of Isumi's sentence and made a dash for the playing room. As he had expected, the doorway was packed with reporters and supporters, waiting for the players to come out. Occasionally, Hikaru caught a glimpse of Akira's face beyond the bobbing heads of the crowd, desperately suppressing his own disappointment while maintaining his composure.

"Can't let the youngsters snatch up all the titles yet, can we?" he heard Ogata say.

Hikaru wanted to run in, grab Akira, and steal him away. But they weren't 12 anymore, and Akira was a professional, who needed to endure his defeat calmly and gracefully.

But it was heartbreaking to watch.

Hikaru waited out a long period of formalities and politenesses, leaning against the wall while he waited for Akira to make it past the crowd. "Yes, the match was very formidable," "No, I don't have any doubts about my next title defense," "Yes, I plan on challenging him again next year." Hikaru resisted the urge to punch some of the reporters and comrades that asked less polite questions. But again.

Professionals.

When Akira did finally emerge from the bustle, he was relieved to see Hikaru waiting for him. His head was high, but his spirits were visibly low.

"I'm sorry," Akira said.

Hikaru put his hand on Akira's shoulder. "You...don't have to apologize, Akira. It was a good game."

"I couldn't do it," Akira went on.

"Akira, it's fine," he pressed anxiously, as his friend began to break down. "Where do you want to go? Home? You want to get something to eat?"

Akira refocused. "Uh. Home. Let's go home, Hikaru."

The subway was packed. There wasn't much room for them when they got on, so they remained pressed against the door, clinging to the vertical bar. Akira's eyes were cast down, and Hikaru was having a hard time handling it. The train rumbled, their hips pressing together when the train came to a stop at the next station.

The ride, though relatively short, seemed to last forever. Hikaru couldn't read Akira's thoughts, but he could see the grief spreading across his face. He wanted to say something, but feared that anything he could think of to say was likely to make it worse. Maybe he could squeeze his hand. That always seemed like a positive thing. He could try that.

Hikaru's free hand slid over to find Akira's. They brushed fingers at first, sending chills down Hikaru's spine and color into Akira's cheeks. Suddenly, and before Hikaru could navigate his hand into Akira's, Akira gripped his friend's hand hard. They didn't look at one another. Akira maintained that nearly painful, desperate grip until they reached their stop.

This was not like the little squeeze, light and pleasant. This grip was powerful, pained. Hikaru felt loneliness in it, and so he squeezed back with all the energy he had.

Their hands were hidden against the door, cold against the metal, in a tiny secret hiding place where this particular gesture of affection would make more appearances as time went on.

When they reached their stop, Akira made no motion to let go. Hikaru knew that they really couldn't be seen holding hands, so after the doors opened, he said "Akira. We have to go."

Akira looked up as if he had been woken and loosened his grip slightly, but not enough for Hikaru to get free without wresting himself away uncomfortably.

"Don't worry," he whispered warmly. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm coming with you." Akira nodded and let go, and the two got off.

When they got home, Akira leaned against the wall in the entrance way with a sigh while Hikaru took his sneakers off. When he put his shoes in their cubby, Akira actually slid himself down against the wall, sitting on the landing.

"Akira..." Hikaru said, stunned by the display. Sighing, he sat down across from him and grabbed his dejected friend's feet. Akira jumped, and watched as Hikaru began untying the laces of the dress shoes.

"Hikaru?"

Hikaru made a grumpy face as he wrestled the shoes off of Akira's feet, then looked him in the eyes. "If you're going to mope, at least have the dignity to make it to the couch or your bed first," he said, jumping up quickly and shoving the shoes into their own cubby before shuffling into the kitchen.

Akira blinked. He had to admit he felt a little childish, but he was fuzzy from Hikaru's display of shoe-removing affection.

In any case, Akira eventually found his way to the couch, and flopped onto it.

"I'd make you lunch," Hikaru said, "but you might die. So I guess I'll order something. What are you in the mood for?"

"I'm not hungry, Hikaru."

"Bullshit," he replied. "I'll order you some pork katsu and tempura and you'll like it."

By the time he got off of the phone, he was disturbed to see that Akira's mood had not improved in the slightest.

"Akira," he said, taking a seat next to his friend, "this just isn't right. What's going on?"

"I'm sorry," he replied. Hikaru twitched.

"No. Akira. Ugh- listen, stop apologizing. I don't know what you're sorry for. I don't understand why you're so depressed over this game. You're always so motivated, even after a defeat, so what-"

Akira closed his eyes and turned away, covering his mouth with his hand.

"Akira!"

"I'm so-" he began before remembering that he was asked not to apologize. He shrunk a little.

"Just talk to me, Akira?"

Akira leaned back and took a deep breath.

"Hikaru...what happens... if you catch up to me?"

"What?"

"What if I stop getting better?"

Hikaru made a perplexed face. "Akira...what the hell? That's ridiculous. I don't even know what you're on about. You just lost one title match to a very strong, more experienced player that had a lot to defend. You need to get your head back on this planet right now. Or I'm going to eat your lunch."

Akira sighed again. He hadn't quite managed to communicate the real problem to Hikaru, but was pretty sure it wasn't the right time to pursue it.

"Are you feeling better yet?" Hikaru asked.

"Yeah," Akira lied. Hikaru knew.

"What should I do, Akira?"

Akira knew what Hikaru could do, but was afraid to ask. He had taken so much from Hikaru today, that to have it again would just be selfish.

But he wanted it. So, turning his face away again, he inched his hand, one finger at a time, across the couch cushion, closing the short distance between their thighs. Hikaru noticed immediately when Akira's pinky barely rested against his leg. He understood what was being requested, but he was perplexed as to why Akira wouldn't look at him. Was he embarrassed? Hikaru really didn't care if they did awkward things in private, so long as it made Akira feel better. Hikaru picked up Akira's hand and held it firmly. They clung not with the desperation of the moment on the train, but with calm comfort. In the privacy of their apartment, it seemed much more intimate, and they were aware of the temperature, texture, and clamminess of one another's skin. They sat in silence, holding hands until the food arrived.

Incidentally, Akira didn't like pork katsu, but he ate it anyway, for Hikaru's sake.

•°•°•°•

"Waya," Hikaru said, a couple of days later over lunch with his friend.

"What?"

"What does it mean, well, does it mean something when someone squeezes your hand?"

"Huh?" He said. "Like how?"

Hikaru offered up his hand, and when Waya's met his, he demonstrated the squeeze that he and Akira frequently shared.

"I don't think so," Waya said. "Why?"

"I..." Hikaru said, double checking the story in his head, "saw a couple doing that... on a train."

"Oo...kay," Waya said, rolling his eyes. "Something like that probably doesn't mean anything in particular, but..."

"But?" Hikaru said.

"Sometimes people need to say things but can't way them out loud. Like, me and Shin," he said, leaning over to squeeze the edge of Hikaru's wrist with his thumb and forefinger, "we do that to each other sometimes. Sometimes it means 'Thanks,' or, 'say something,' or, uh..."

Hikaru waited.

"Sometimes it means 'I love you.'"

Hikaru nodded.

"But only we know which."

"I see."

Waya's eyes narrowed. "So," he said, "who's been squeezing your hand, Shindou?"

Hikaru lit up. "No one! I told you, I saw-"

"Yeah, yeah, Shindou. But you're a shit liar."

"Fuck off, Waya," Hikaru hissed, getting back to slurping his ramen.

•°•°•°•

Although Akira had resumed his normal, hectic routine since the Gosei match, Hikaru could tell that something was still off. He wasn't sure if he should ask about it, do something nice without mentioning it, or just give him space and let him work it out on his own. All he knew is that Akira had wondered what would happen if he stopped improving. And that made no sense to him. Nor did it make sense that their occasional hand squeezes were not happy and encouraging like they used to be. They had a feeling of clinginess, and worry, and happened usually when Akira was leaving Hikaru. Akira's go remained solid, but occasionally, he could see the worry in his face. He couldn't understand what the worry was about.

On top of all that, they weren't having quite as much... fun. As they used to. Not that they used to throw parties or anything, but the bickering that they had founded their relationship on had dwindled now that Hikaru was more sensitive to Akira's mood. There was something comforting in that old routine, and he used to derive serious joy from ruffling Akira's feathers.

A few weeks later, they found themselves on a train to Akira's mother's home. Since Hikaru no longer found ways to chase Akira out of their house with his antics, they made an intentional trip to see her once a week.

Hikaru felt comfortable on the train with Akira, and he wasn't sure why, but it relaxed him that they were headed somewhere together. It appeared to be a good opportunity to speak up.

"Akira? Can I ask you something?"

Akira opened his eyes, as he has been dozing off. "What's that?"

"You...since the Gosei match..." he began, "you've seemed worried about something."

Akira looked out the window across from him. "R...really?"

Hikaru was disturbed at the feigned denial. As he considered giving up, the passing moments of silence became too much for Akira, who glanced over at Hikaru with worry in his eyes.

"There!" Hikaru said, grabbing Akira's chin lightly in his fingers and staring him in the eyes.

"What is this? What are you afraid of?"

Akira sat frozen in place. He had known lying about his mood would be futile, but he didn't expect Hikaru to be so aggressive.

While Akira winced, silently, Hikaru became acutely aware of the people around him who were staring. Suddenly frustrated that his attempt to crack into Akira's worry was being met with total silence, he stood up and walked over to the door, where he stood with his arms crossed, looking out of the window.

Akira melted in horror. Hikaru had turned his back to him for the first time. Ever.

They completed the journey and their visit under the painful tenseness that resulted from that exchange, though they tried desperately to act like they were fine. Akiko had noticed, but didn't say anything. On the way back, Hikaru resumed his position by the door, and Akira took a seat. They didn't exchange a single word on the the entire ride home.

•°•°•°•

Akira feared abandonment more than anything.

The most painful blow was his father's death. Touya Kouyo had been his idol and his mentor. But long before that, another man had left him.

This man was at the Touya home frequently when Akira was a child. He most fondly remembered him from when we has three, until about six. This beautiful blonde man was around often, studying with his father. He was sweet and affectionate, picking Akira up, patting him on the head. He recalled with particular fondness the memory of playing with his glasses as a stubby fingered toddler. He was by no means ever left to babysit Akira, but there were moments when his father stepped away, and Akira crawled into the man's lap to watch him replay a game until his mother spotted him and demanded he not bother the students.

Ogata Seiji was probably that six year old's first childhood crush, until he became aware of how society organized people and that he was a young boy and Seiji was a grown man. That rosy affection waned even further when Ogata became more stern and serious, treating Akira with increased professional distance as he began to register Akira as a competitor.

But Ogata remained more or less a member of the family- he came and went frequently to the Touya home, and Akira had visited Ogata's as well. By the time Akira met Hikaru and began engaging in that chase, Ogata wasn't registered as anything like a crush anymore. He was clearly a family friend, and so that affection he found in himself was understandable.

But sometimes Ogata drank. And this habit was the one that set the stage for the night that affected all of Akira's future relationships. When he had just turned thirteen, and shortly before going pro, he attended an event with his father and some of his students. He found himself in Ogata's hotel room late that night, having gone up there to try and coax a schedule out of him for the morning. His father would be leaving that night, and Akira would be returning home with Ogata the next day.

"Ogata-san," Akira said, staring at the older man lying on his bed, fully clothed, beer in hand. He didn't move.

"Seiji!" He shouted.

"Eh?" Ogata said, sitting up. "Oh. Excuse me, Akira." He lurched up and swung his legs down, facing the boy.

"What time is your morning game?" Akira said.

"Ah. Hmm. I... it should say on the schedule. On...the side table," he said, waving his hand ungracefully at the aforementioned piece of furniture.

Akira sighed, thoroughly disgusted with Ogata's behavior, and stepped over to the table to look.

"It's right after the second day morning ceremony," he said, staring at the paper, "at 9:30."

When Ogata didn't respond, Akira turned, and saw a look on his face that he was unfamiliar with.

"...not so bad," Ogata said, reaching a hand out to run his fingers across Akira's lower back.

Akira shivered. "Seiji, w...what-"

Ogata stood up and slid his feet over to stand next to Akira. He put his hands on Akira's hips and looked down at him, evaluating.

"You're very pretty, Akira," he said.

Akira froze in fear. "O...gata...san..."

"It's too bad you're a boy," he went on, now toying with Akira's bangs with one hand while the other rose, cloyingly, up Akira's chest. The boy was drowning in the reeking scent of alcohol and buckling under the intensity of the heat he felt rising in his body.

"Ogata," he said again, now shaking a little bit. The blonde man appeared to be elsewhere, not realizing that he was touching a thirteen year old.

But Akira was not as afraid of Ogata's paedophilic advances as he was of wanting them. In the moment between Akira declaring the match time and Ogata sidling up to him, all the memories of his affection for this man flooded his system. It was probably a combination of a thirteen-year-old's yet unaddressed hormones, and those fond memories that made him want to let Ogata touch him, despite knowing fully how inappropriate it was. Along with his sudden desire to be wanted, his firming manhood was betraying his common sense.

Ogata leaned down and pressed his lips into Akira's bangs, inhaling.

Akira trembled, trapped against the sidetable, and face to face with Ogata's firm, handsome chest. The terrified teenager was overwhelmed. He wasn't even sure if he wanted this to be happening or not. His mind raced, wondering if he should be doing something, or shouldn't be doing something, or moaning, or screaming. As Ogata continued to press his face into Akira's hair, his hand now having moved back down to his hip, Akira lifted a shaking hand up to run his thin, callused fingertips across Ogata's neck.

On contact, Ogata inhaled deeply, and then suddenly stood up.

He had become sobered almost instantly, fully taking in the sight before him- a terrified, barely pubescent boy, backed into a corner by his horribly drunken advances. He was immediately disgusted with himself.

Akira could read Ogata's changed expression, and his eyes began to tear up.

Ogata thought Akira was beginning to cry out of fear of almost being molested. But what Akira was really doing was lamenting the fact that he knew it wasn't going to happen. And he felt filthy.

They both did.

"Go into the bathroom and wash your face, Akira," Ogata said, suddenly completely composed. "I'm sorry to have scared you like that. I promise, it will never, ever happen again."

Tears began streaming down Akira's cheeks, and he shuffled into the bathroom with face in his elbow, hiccuping his tears back. He stayed locked in that bathroom for a long while, crying unreservedly. He didn't understand what had happened, but all he could focus on was that Ogata had said it would never happen again. Even though he didn't like Ogata that way. Did he? He couldn't remember anymore.

In any case, he felt overwhelmingly rejected. By the time he opened the door, Ogata had fallen asleep, or pretended to be, and Akira crept out of the room.

Ogata did honestly regret everything that had just happened. He vowed never to drink that much again, but knew he wouldn't keep that promise. He feared that the Meijin would disown him when he found out, as it was deserved. Making advances at his son. He would never threaten Akira to not tell anyone. That would be disgusting, and cruel. He would have to atone for his actions. How would Akira tell them? What would the look on the Mejin's face be? He could already hear count down to the end of his career. Ogata cried that night, for the first time in a long time, for having thrown away his life's work for one too many cans of beer.

Akira took the first train home, and when he arrived, he told his parents he had left early because he had felt ill. It wasn't a lie. But it wasn't the whole truth.

It was a story Akira never told his father, and would never tell Hikaru. But it spoke to everything that happened. Why losing to Ogata hurt so badly, and why Akira, suddenly unable to achieve his goals, feared, more than anything, being rejected by Hikaru.

And furthermore, why Ogata became adamant about pushing Akira back to chasing Hikaru after going pro.

And finally, why Akira would never take a girlfriend.

•°•°•°•

The next morning, Hikaru was awake and dressed before Akira was. He thought Akira had possibly left extremely early, or slipped out when he wasn't looking. It would be uncommon, but understandable, considering the extreme tension between them the night before. But when he went to put his shoes on, he noticed that Akira's were still in their place.

Hikaru inhaled deeply, and rubbed his hand over his head. He would have to talk to Akira, if he was still home. Because of last night, it wouldn't be as simple as it would any other time.

He walked back over, and lifted his fist to knock on the door, but it hovered there without coming down. He sighed, turning around and sitting with his back against the wall, next to Akira's door.

He did not know how to handle this feeble Akira. After sitting for ten minutes he realized he had to do something. So he cheated.

He gathered his things as if he was leaving the house. He made banging noises in the shoe rack, and put on his jacket. Then he opened the door and slammed it shut.

Hikaru held still for a few moments, trying to detect movement from Akira's room. When there was no immediate noise, he silently slipped off his jacket, and tiptoed back to his stake out spot just outside of Akira's room. It was cowardly, for sure, but he was feeling a little slighted for not being trusted with whatever was eating at Akira, and somehow that made it justifiable.

Sure enough, only moments later, Hikaru heard rustling from Akira's room.

Hikaru turned pink, suddenly realizing the implications of his trick- he was eavesdropping on Akira when Akira thought he was home alone. Hikaru knew he'd be mortified if he was being observed when he thought he was home alone. Hikaru sent up a quick prayer that Akira wasn't going to masturbate or something.

Luckily, Hikaru escaped that fate, and Akira emerged only a minute later.

The door slid open, and Akira shuffled out in his pajamas, hair tussled and eyes red, staring blankly ahead of him.

"'Bout time," Hikaru said.

Akira was so startled that he stumbled across the hall, falling onto the floor on his ass with a thud, eyes wide open in horror.

"Oh, God, Akira," Hikaru said, jumping up after him, "are you okay?"

Akira blinked, and then bgean turning red. His eyebrows reared and he shouted, "HOLY SHIT HIKARU, WHAT THE FUCK?"

Now Hikaru was stricken, and he blinked back. Suddenly forgetting why he was there in the first place, he said, "Wow. Never heard you curse like that. It's kind of cool."

"God, Hikaru," he went on, panting and wiping the cold sweat from his brow with his sleeve. "I thought I heard you leave."

"I know," Hikaru said. "I faked it."

"What is wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with you? Oh, no, I asked you that yesterday and you wouldn't answer, so why would you answer me now?"

Akira covered his face in his hands.

Oh, shit, Hikaru realized. That was pretty mean.

"Never mind that. We have dan games this morning, what are you doing?"

"I...don't feel well," Akira said, his voice muffled by his hands.

"Akira, when you feel unwell you don't just hide in your room. Don't _lie_ to me. You've been doing _that_ quite a bit lately and it's getting on my nerves."

He was right. When Akira was sick, he would try to go to his games anyway, and Hikaru would fight with him to keep him in bed. Akira did begin to feel sick to his stomach, however, as Hikaru's irritation with his behavior became increasingly apparent.

"God, Hikaru, look, I'm sorry I'm pissing you off, but, there's a lot... going on..."

"Well what, Akira? What is it? I don't know what to do or how to act anymore! We spent last night _ignoring_ each other. I felt like a five year old, but I didn't know what else to do, because I can't handle you saying you're fine all the time when you're obviously not!"

The shouting was a bit much for Akira to take, and he felt tears begin to flow.

"If I cant believe you when you tell me how you're feeling, how do I know when you_ are_ telling me the truth? I'm running around the house wondering if you _really _want me to leave you alone, or if you really _aren't _hungry. I used to have it figured out but I can't figure anything out now because I'm second guessing everything you say!"

Akira was sobbing animatedly now, and Hikaru felt bad for it, but was glad he had gotten everything out. Akira felt like this couldn't possibly be going any worse.

Luckily, the ranting was over. Hikaru knelt in front of Akira, pushing his hands away from his face and lifting his chin to look him in the eyes. Akira met his gaze for only a second before turning away to hide his red, worn, wet face, but Hikaru grabbed his chin again, forcefully this time, to return his look.

"Akira, please tell me you understand what I'm upset about."

Akira buckled with a sob, and nodded, forcing his face out of Hikaru grip and back into his own, wet palms.

Hikaru pushed his body forward and pulled Akira into a tight, almost breath-stifling embrace. Akira face was pressed uncomfortably into Hikaru's shirt, but he savored it anyway.

"I want to know what's wrong so we can make it better so I can have you back. I miss you," Hikaru said.

Their bodies were pressed together rather intimately. They were hot and damp from tears. Hikaru's hands were mashed into Akira's shirt and hair. But the awkwardness was lost. The two were secure in themselves, not afraid to be touching. Akira's hands were trapped in between their chests, and he wrestled them around in order to grip Hikaru's shirt in his fists. Hikaru responded by wresting his fingers around against the back of Akira's scalp, and when Hikaru's other hand slid along Akira's back in a downward motion, Akira, with a longing sigh, couldn't help but to lift his hips instinctively up against Hikaru's body.

But that was just the motion needed to cross the line, and Hikaru pulled away, looking Akira in the face with concern. Akira was beet red, and his skin tingled.

"Go wash your face, Akira," He said, turning away. "I'll try and figure out breakfast. Then we're going to run like hell to our dan games, because I sure as hell have had enough forfeits to last the rest of my life. And when we get home tonight, we're going to talk."

Akira nodded, and Hikaru stood up, lifting Akira with him. Akira clung to Hikaru for one extra moment before letting go, slowly, and heading down the hall.

Hikaru heard the shower go on, and had just pulled out some eggs when the phone rang.

"Hello?" Hikaru said.

"Shindou-kun?" an elderly-sounding female voice replied.

"Ah, Touya-san. Good morning. To what do I own such an early call?"

"Ah, well," Akiko began, "I was wondering. Last night, I was a little concerned. Are you and Akira-kun..." she paused.

Hikaru waited. Did she sound this old in real life?

"...are you fighting?"

Hikaru furrowed his brow. He didn't think they had let on, but he guessed a mother would probably notice.

"Ah, no, Akiko-san. We... had an argument, but, we're... we're resolving it."

He heard her sigh with relief.

"Well, I'm sorry to have bothered you. I was just worried. Akira-kun is a fierce boy but he's really very gentle. I hope you'll take care of him."

"Of course," Hikaru said, a little perplexed. It was a strange call to have come from Akira's mother.

"Do you promise?" she insisted.

Hikaru took in a careful breath. "Of course."

"Have a good day, Hikaru-kun," she said.

"You too," he said. After the phone clicked, Hikaru lowered the reciever very slowly and stared at the counter top.

He was consciously resisted the urge to say, "You too, _mother_," after she called him by his first name. It was a first on both accounts, and left Hikaru a little shaken.

•°•°•°•

They both won their dan games that morning, after which Akira had to make an appearance at an event that Hikaru had not been invited to. Standing close to one another in the lobby, Hikaru whispered, "Are you going to be okay?" To which Akira, shy but happy to have Hikaru's concern, squeezed his hand and nodded. It was the old squeeze, the happy squeeze, and so Hikaru felt okay about letting him go.

•°•°•°•

End of chapter 3.

Notes: Sorry that this chapter was a little dark.

Next in chapter 4: Hikaru gets a well-needed intervention from his friends, and Akira barely has time to recover from his depression before a new tragedy befalls him.

Thanks for following.


	4. Release

"Waya!" Hikaru shouted, barely making it in the doorway.

Waya craned his neck to the side to see Hikaru in the apartment entrance way from the couch. "Yo."

"Waya, I need to talk to you!" he said, hopping into the living room after tossing his belongings in a pile on the floor.

"What else is new, hand squeezing guy?" He mocked, leaning over to shut off his video game.

"Come on, Waya."

Waya settled back into the couch and put his feet up. "Need something to drink?"

"Nah," Hikaru replied, as Waya opened up a soda.

"Alright then. Shoot."

"I almost kissed Akira."

Waya covered his mouth to prevent spitting his first sip across the room.

"NO WAY."

Hikaru crossed his arms and glared at Waya, irritated.

"Would you mind not looking so fucking excited about it, Waya?"

"I would. Spill," he said, eagerly.

"Christ, Waya, its not awesome, okay? I feel bad. It's not like it's fun making moves on your roommate."

"I beg to differ," he replied smugly, taking another sip. "What's your problem?"

"It's AKIRA, dumb ass." He paused. "And he was kind of crying."

Waya made a face. "Why was he crying?"

"'Cause I yelled at him."

Waya cocked an eyebrow. "So you yelled at Akira, made him cry, and then you almost kissed him."

Hikaru stared.

"You gotta fill in some blanks for me, Shindou."

Hikaru exhaled. "We got in a fight last night. We kind of ignored one another for a while, and then this morning he didn't leave the house, so I kind of ambushed him."

Waya made a face.

"Never mind. Look, he hasn't been telling me why he's been all depressed, and it really stressed me out. So when he kept avoiding my questions, I kinda lost it. And then he lost it. It was kind of a mess."

"Not the greatest set up for smooching, no."

"Waya."

"Just saying," he said, throwing up his hands.

"He was so hysterical that I just kind of grabbed him and hugged him. And then..."

"And theeeeeeen?" Waya pressed, noticing Hikaru's cheeks turning pink.

"Waya," he mumbled, barely audibly, "You know I tell you stuff... that I wouldn't tell anyone else, right?"

"Didja get a boner, Shindou?"

"WAYA! SHUT UP. I DID NOT."

Waya laughed. "Shindou, you can tell me anything you want. Don't worry."

Hikaru caught his breath. "Fucker. Okay. Well, so I hugged him, right? And his hands. He kinda, like, grabbed onto my shirt with his fists, and..."

"Yeah..."

"It was kind of exciting," he mumbled, turning red in the face. "And I really wanted to kiss him."

Waya softened, sensing that Hikaru was really being vulnerable now.

"Hey, Shindou. It's okay. That's normal."

"But..."

"But why did you only _want_ to. Why didn't you?"

"W- why? Waya, because we're not gay!"

Waya cocked an unbelieving eyebrow.

"You're not, huh?"

"N...no!"

"Shindou?"

"_What_."

"You almost kissed a boy this morning. Have you ever almost kissed a girl?"

Hikaru crossed his arms, refusing to answer.

"I'll take that as a no. You live with your best friend and the two of you are codependent freaks who have never been seen with a female."

Hikaru remained silent, pouting.

"Shindou, tell me what part of this story does not sound _gay_?"

They engaged in a brief staredown, before Waya threw up his hands again and shouted, "Shinichirou! Come quick!"

"WAYA!" Hikaru protested.

"Shut up you little queen," Waya spat at Hikaru. Isumi hopped down the stairs.

"What's going on?" Isumi asked.

"Shindou's gay!" Waya beamed triumphantly.

"Finally," Isumi said, rolling his eyes. "Congrats, Shindou."

"Fina- what? Guys! I told you! I'm NOT!"

Isumi sighed, "Oh yes you are. You've been as gay as a cheerleader for Akira since you were twelve."

"He's my _rival_, asshole. We're go players."

Isumi glared. "Don't you get snippy with me. There are lots of Go players, you realize, right? Players that are way stronger than Akira? But do you pursue them obsessively for half of your lifetime? No. You don't."

"You guys don't know what you're talking about," Hikaru shouted, standing up.

"Hey. Shindou? If anybody does, it's us," Waya whispered, giving him a look that said 'just look at us. We're gay.'

"But we're not like you," Hikaru said, exhausted. "We're different than that."

Isumi stood up, and stomped across the few feet separating himself from Hikaru.

"Excuse me?" He said, with authority. "Are you implying that your relationship is somehow above ours, Shindou Hikaru?"

Hikaru swallowed hard. "Is...sumi..."

"Sucker, you've got like five second to smart up," Waya said.

"I'm not! I mean! I didn't..." He glanced nervously at Waya, who was not impressed.

"I mean...I did. I'm...sorry. I'm really sorry," he said, sincerely.

Isumi nodded in a way that said 'you bet your sorry ass, you are,' and took his place on the couch.

Hikaru sat down with a flop and hung his head down in between his shoulders.

"Look, even if you guys say so, and all that stuff is true, I just don't... I mean, I can't feel that we're...uh..."

"Hikaru," Isumi said. "Forget the word 'gay' for a second, okay? You and Akira have been chasing each other for eight years. Now you live together, but you still haven't caught one another. That's whats frustrating you both. You've been living together, forming this life together, but you haven't acknowledged that you love one another. Beyond your go."

Hikaru stared as things clicked in his head.

"Deciding to 'be gay' doesn't mean your life is going to change. The only think that will is your commitment to one another. It will grow, and then you can both honest with one another. All the time."

Waya continued for Isumi, "Maybe we shouldn't say that 'you've always been gay,' Shindou. We should have said 'you've always loved Akira.' And all we're trying to tell you is that it is time to accept that you love Akira more than you love playing go with him."

Hikaru felt his stomach fall, aching as so many things fell into place. He understood, but...

"But what...if..." he began. "But Akira isn't..."

"Oh, yes he is," Isumi said.

Hikaru looked up in surprise.

"Shindou, he is like twenty times gayer than you. But _he_ probably _knows_ it."

"Bullshit," Hikaru said, the tone of his voice conveying the opposite: 'no shit.'

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. Waya went to open it, and shouted, "T..Touya?"

Hikaru jumped up and ran to the door. Sure enough, there he was, eyes puffy from crying once again.

"Don't any of you answer your goddamned phones?" He shouted.

Hikaru grabbed Akira's wrists. "Akira, what's wrong? What's going on?"

"Mother..." he said, mumbling, "...hospital."

"What? I just talked to her this morning."

"You did what?" Akira exclaimed. "Her sister said she's been in the hospital since last night."

"She called me from the hospital?"

"You two assholes better get in the house or in my car, cause I don't feel like heating the whole neighborhood here," Isumi said.

The two stared up for a beat, then nodded.

After a short gathering of belongings, they piled into Isumi's car. He asked Akira for the address of the hospital and set it in his GPS- a purchase that had saved Waya's career, and relationship, more than once.

Once in and moving, Hikaru and Akira exchanged still glances with one another, and then Hikaru sighed, wrapping his arm around Akira and pulling him close, without reservation. Akira leaned in closer.

"It'll be okay," Hikaru said, stroking Akira's hair with his free hand.

"Why did she call from the hospital but not mention she was in the hospital?" Akira asked.

"She was probably expected to, but didn't want to worry you. She asked me if we had been fighting."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

Akira paused. "Were we?"

"Yeah."

"Are we now?"

Hikaru mustered up his courage and leaned his head down, kissing Akira on the forehead quickly- almost quickly enough to be completely missed. "I hope not," he said into Akira's bangs.

Akira grew flush immediately. The circumstances were not enviable, but he felt, at that moment, completely safe.

"Thank you, guys," Hikaru said.

"Don't mention it," Isumi replied.

When they got to the hospital, Isumi offered to stay, but Akira insisted that they would be fine. Akira and Hikaru ran up to Akiko's room, and were greeted by her sister, Shiori, outside.

"Aunt Shiori," Akira called, running to embrace her.

"Akira-kun, dear," she said, hugging him tightly and blinking back tears. "Shindou-kun," she added, nodding in his direction. He nodded back.

"What's going on?" Akira asked.

"She stopped eating," she said.

"She did what?"

"I don't understand," Shiori said. "She was doing well, but, it seems she hasn't been eating for days- not enough for probably weeks, we don't really know how long."

"But she will be okay, right?" Akira said urgently. "They'll give her IVs and then we just have to get her to eat again."

Shiori shook her head.

"Aunt Shiori?"

Shiori sniffled, and brought a hand to her face. Having had enough, Hikaru barged into Akiko's room.

There she was, just as skinny as ever, not attached to any equipment. Hikaru walked over to the bedside and looked down on her. A beat later, Akira appeared behind him.

"Mother..." he said.

She opened her eyes, gently.

"Akira..." she whispered.

He leaned over and took her hand.

"I've been told you're refusing infusions," he said, quietly.

She blinked slowly, which was a good as a nod.

"Why are you doing this, mother?" he said, urgency in his voice. Hikaru covered his mouth and turned away, afraid he might cry if he kept watching.

She closed her eyes. "I miss him, Akira," is all she said.

It was no secret that his parent's marriage had been arranged. And they were affectionate enough. But he had never realized that their love had run that deep. There were ancient tales of women dying days later after their loves. He didn't know such a thing could be true. And it may not have been. Akiko took over a year.

"Mother..."

"Akira, I'm tired. I want to see him."

"Right now?" he said, teary.

She sighed, ever so quietly.

"Akira. I want to tell you something."

He leaned in, expectantly. Hikaru hovered just close enough to hear.

"I know you were afraid to tell me. I understand. I want you to know," she took a pause, "that it never mattered to me. I just want you to be happy."

"Thanks, mother," Akira said. "I will be."

Hikaru turned away from both of them, wondering what she was talking about. He paced back out to the hall.

"Take care of him," she added.

Akiko closed her eyes, tired from stringing together so many words at once.

"I'll miss you, mother," he said.

She exhaled in a gentle way that communicated 'Me too.'

Akira sat, holding her hand in silence for a long hour.

The evening was spent with Shiori and Hikaru running different errands while Akira waited for his mother to breathe her last breath.

When ten'o'clock came, three hours later, he put a hand on Akira's shoulder, waking him from a gentle doze.

"We should go to the hotel now. You should get some sleep."

Akira looked nervously at his mother. She was still silent, still peaceful, but still alive.

"It's okay, Akira-kun," his aunt said. "I'll be here. You get some rest."

Akira resisted for a moment, but let go when Hikaru gave his other hand a squeeze.

Akira leaned over and said, nearly silently, "I love you mother."

And then they left.

Hikaru led Akira a couple of blocks away to the hotel he had checked in to a few hours eariler. The room wasn't large, but it had two twin beds and everything they'd need.

"You want to shower?" Hikaru asked, tossing his coat onto his bed.

Akira, laid out on his own bed, shook his head.

Hikaru took off his shirt and pants, then left sight for a few minutes. Akira could hear him brushing his teeth and cleaning his face.

When he came back, he shut off the lights and walked over to Akira's bed. Akira was still fully clothed on top of the sheets, his eyes closed, and and blueish streetlight glow peeked in through the curtains, illuminating the room just enough. Hikaru stood over him for a moment, watching his gentle features rise and fall. After a few long seconds, he leaned over and whispered, "Hey."

"Mm?" Akira mumbled, stirring, and looked up. "Hikaru?"

"Can I sit here?" Hikaru asked.

Akira nodded.

As he sat, he was very conscious of the yield of the bed, the cushion falling significantly under his weight, springs snapping into place. Akira rolled onto his side and looked up at Hikaru.

"You can lay down, if you want," he said.

Hikaru took a deep breath, and obliged. The mattress bent under the pressure of his arm as he crawled in next to his raven haired rival, and when he lay, Akira rolled towards him just a little, without touching.

"You're still dressed," Hikaru observed.

"Would you rather I was naked?" He replied.

Hikaru wasn't sure if that was a joke or an offer. He chose not to respond, despite the fact that part of him wanted to say 'yes.'

"How are you doing?" he went on, changing the subject while stroking Akira's hair.

Akira closed his eyes and savored the sensation. He raised his own hand to catch Hikaru's and continued to slide his palm down along Hikaru's forearm. That action, paired with Akira's satisfied sigh, made Hikaru's skin tingle.

"I'm okay," he finally answered.

Hikaru exhaled suddenly- unaware until then that he'd been holding his breath. Hikaru looked into Akira's eyes and could see immediately that he was telling the truth.

"She's ready," he continued, sneaking his hand along Hikaru's hipbone. "I'm okay with it. I got to say goodbye this time." Akira was at peace with his loss, but couldn't hide the one bit of grief that remained by necessity.

Hikaru saw that flash of grief, and out of an urge to assuage it, leaned in to pull Akira's body against his. They pressed close, Akira's lips hovering milimeters away from Hikaru's collarbone. Hikaru's arm wrapped around Akira's waist, and he had knotted his fist in the fabric of his rival's shirt. Akira let his body relax into his friend's, letting legs, stomachs, breasts and pelvises rest gently together.

Against his worse, but more desirable, judgement, Hikaru began to speak again.

"We never got to talk about what happened last night," he said.

Akira nodded, eyes downcast.

"It's probably not the best time to do it, though," Hikaru said. "With what's going on right now."

"It's okay," Akira said, rolling on to his back. He proceeded to sit up on his knees, facing Hikaru on the bed. He suddenly began unbuttoning his shirt, very slowly, very delicately, from top to bottom.

This doesn't look like talking about it, Hikaru thought. He quickly became hypnotized by the gentle but languid movement Akira's hands were making. Pulling the cloth, pushing the button, pressing it through. And then another couple inches of skin appeared. And then he did it again. A little lower this time. And then Akira would steal a glance at Hikaru.

Hikaru blinked, aware of the heat rising in his body.

Was Akira stripping? _At him_? _Now_?

At the sixth button, right before the navel appeared, Akira gave tiny, sexy sigh.

Yes, Hikaru thought. Yes, he is stripping. He is stripping for me.

The pressure in between Hikaru's thighs suddenly became too present, and he sat up, turning away and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He was wearing only his boxers, so there was no hiding his excitement.

It might have been worse that he turned around, because now he could hear Akira pulling his shirt out of his pants, and pulling it off over his shoulders, off of his arms, into a heap on the foot of the bed, and he had his _imagination_ to help.

"Akira," he said.

Thin, pale arms snaked around Hikaru's torso, and a hot, soft chest pressed against his back. "Yes?" Akira whispered breathily.

Hikaru gasped audibly. Silky hair slid across his shoulder blades as Akira rested his cheek square between them.

"Do you..." he paused to let out a tiny groan as Akira's hands slid down his chest and onto his stomach. "Right now..." he tried again, totally overwhelmed with heat.

Akira sat back, pulling away from Hikaru. "Hikaru, look at me," he said, seriously.

Hikaru turned, face ten kinds of flushed.

"Don't pretend like it isn't... clear... what I want."

Hikaru gulped. "Akira, I don't...know... it seems kind of... inappropriate..."

Akira's eye became very sorrowful. Guilty.

"I'm feeling...kind of selfish tonight, Hikaru. I'm sorry."

"A...Akira, I didn't mean..." Hikaru looked up, totally confused.

"You wanted to talk about it," Akira said, nervously. "I tried to talk... with my body, but, I guess..."

Hikaru clenched his fists in the sheets, palms slick with sweat.

"I'm being greedy right now, Hikaru. I...thought, maybe," he gulped, "maybe you would try and pretend I was a girl or something, and-"

Hikaru froze. Akira meant to... _do that_?

"And you don't have to... I mean, it doesn't have to be a _thing_, I just wanted... to, just escape for a little while..."

He did. He wanted to assuage his grief with sex. With him.

"I'm sorry I did that...I'm really embarassed now, Hikaru," he said, covering his face with his hands. "I just fucked everything up, didn't I?" He cried, quietly.

"A...akira," Hikaru said. "No...I just..."

Akira sniffed, distraught. Hikaru put his hand on Akira's shoulder.

"I...don't want to...just...have sex."

"...just?"

"Akira. I need to ask you something."

Akira nodded, nervously.

"If I couldn't play go, would you still stay with me?"

Akira looked puzzled. "Hikaru, you can always play go."

"No, I mean...play along. Please. What if... I couldn't move my arms?"

"Hikaru, I could move the stones for you."

"What if I lost my voice too?"

"Hikaru, I don't understand. Look, I can speak for you."

"What if-" Hikaru began, but was interrupted when Akira threw his fists down upon the bed.

"Hikaru! You will always be able to play go! You _have_ to-"

Hikaru felt the pain return to the pit of his stomach. Was it true? Was he only being kept for his go?

Akira ignored the grief crashing down on his friend and shouted, "Hikaru! You have to always play go! Go is the one thing that keeps me connected to you!"

Hikaru looked back up.

"Hikaru, I can't lose that. I can't... if I lose that..." he whimpered.

Hikaru grabbed Akira's wrists.

"Is that it?" Hikaru said sternly, shaking Akira a little by his wrists. "Go is the only thing we've got? That's it?"

Akira was frozen, Hikaru's grip was hard. And hardening.

Suddenly, in a fluid motion, Hikaru yanked Akira over to him, pressing their lips together. After a brief moment of surprised struggle, Akira graciously relaxed into the kiss, which quickly became a little too messy and wanting. Hikaru leaned back, and then pulled Akira up to straddle his legs.

Akira sighed when Hikaru pulled away.

"Akira, please tell me there's more. More than just go holding us together? Please?"

"Hikaru... I wish...we could be..."

"Akira, I don't want anything else. Just you. All to myself."

"Hikaru, you can't. You're not... I mean...one day, you'll want a family..."

"Akira," he said sternly. "You are my family."

Akira blushed, stunned.

"Akira, I don't care if you start sucking at go. I don't care if you lose all your titles and I get seven. I don't care if you never play go again. Be a writer. A salaryman. A trapeze artist. I don't care. Just stay with me. But please. Tell me you want me, too. Not just my go. And not just my sex."

Akira was dizzy. "You... want...?"

"Akira," he said, confirming. "You. I want you. I'm gay and I want to kiss you, and I want to live with you until we're 100." He paused. "And please, for the love of God, please love me back because just now I said all of those things and if you don't I don't think I can show my face to the world again."

Akira pressed his forehead against Hikaru's. "You want to kiss me, and you want to live with me until we're 100?"

Hikaru nodded, nervous and blushing.

"What about all the stuff in between?" Akira said, drawing out the moment sadistically.

"I...I want all the stuff in between, too," Hikaru confirmed.

Akira smiled.

After a knowing pause, he closed his eyes, and said,

"I'll take it."

...

As Hikaru and Akira settled into a cuddle after deciding not to consummate their interests on this particular night, snow began to fall outside of their window. They would not see that snow tonight, ushering in Akira's 20th birthday, and closing the last chapter of his mother's life, as they drifted to sleep, safe in one another's arms.

She passed away contented, with the knowledge that her son was in good hands and that she would be reunited with the man she loved.

•°•°•°•

End of Chapter 4.

Yay for warm and fuzzies!

More fun ahead! Thank you for following along. Reviews appreciated.

Note: I am not aware of any cannon for Akira's mother's family. If there is, please let me know.


	5. Education

Warning: This chapter contains mature concepts and relations between gay males. Lemony.

•°•°•°•

What Waya and Isumi said was true. Hikaru's relationship with Akira really didn't change much after they admitted to wanting to be committed to one another.

Hikaru was happy to have the old Akira, as well as the old dynamic, back. Being depressed hadn't suited Akira. He had many more responsibilities regarding his mother's funeral than he had with his father's, and he handled it well overall. In the moments that his composure faltered, Hikaru would call out to him, and when Akira saw Hikaru's smiling face, the grief would melt away.

The loss to Ogata had proven to be a fluke, because Akira's Go performances were solid from then on.

Overall, the two young men maintained their normal routine. The only thing that threatened to disrupt the old regiment was the potential for intimate relations, of which there was surprisingly little for a pair of infatuated, cohabiting virgins. It was clear, even from the night in the hotel in December, that Akira was the less inhibited of the two, and it became even more apparent as the weeks went on. Akira wasted little time before making advances at his partner, but they were not received with the enthusiasm he had hoped for.

One night, after slipping into his silkiest pajamas, Akira walked into the living room, approaching the goban Hikaru was playing at.

"Hikaru?" He said.

"Yeah," Hikaru responded absently, placing down another stone. Akira crossed his arms. His attempts at looking attractive were wasted if Hikaru didn't look at him. He knelt in front of the board, opposite his lover.

"Hi-ka-ru," he said again, slower.

Hikaru looked up this time, meeting Akira's hungry eyes for only a moment before tilting to look down Akira's open shirt. It was almost halfway unbuttoned and very nearly hanging off of one shoulder. Hikaru's cheeks warmed as he stared at his boyfriend's chest, and he exhaled a little too loudly.

"What game are you playing through?" Akira asked, very sowly, shifting his weight in a sensual way.

Hikaru took a moment to tear his eyes away from Akira's body and back to his face, at which time he mumbled, "I...f...forgot."

"Good," Akira said, smiling a wicked smile and closing the distance between their lips.

That swift advance sent go stones scattering across the board as his shirt swept over them. He steadied himself over the goban with a hand on Hikaru's thigh, and his lips pleaded with his partner's to let him in. Hikaru resisted for a moment, likely still surprised from the assult. Akira made short order of this hesitation by pressing Hikaru's lower lip with his thumb, opening the resistant mouth manually before his tongue assumed its rightful place inside.

Hikaru let out a quiet groan against the invasion, and, invading back, took Akira's head in his hands. Akira moaned against Hikaru's tongue, a quick spark shooting through his body. He pulled his face up and away, arching his neck as he gasped for breath. Hikaru took advantage of the newly presented flesh and planted his mouth firmly on that craning skin beneath Akira's chin.

At this point, Akira was practically lying across the goban, his fingers digging into Hikaru's legs. His elbows shook unsteadily under the influence of Hikaru's hungry mouth, growling at the flesh of his collarbone.

"Hikaru!" he finally shouted, when a corner of the goban pressed painfully into his pelvis. "Bed, please!"

Akira dragged Hikaru by the arm toward his room, stumbling when Hikaru stopped short in front of his own on the way.

"In here?" Akira asked.

Hikaru looked up with hesitation in his eyes. "M...maybe we should call it a night."

Akira frowned. "_What_?"

Hikaru looked away. "We...have early games, so..."

That again. Akira grumbled at the familiarity of it. It always ended like this, punctuated by the one domestic fact that caused him the most distress: they still slept in separate rooms.

But this was the fourth time that Hikaru had struck Akira out before third base, and he was getting mightily irritated. Taking a new initiative, he pushed Hikaru up against the wall, pressing their pelvises together. Still a bit taller than Hikaru (a point of continued grief for the latter), he looked down into his lover's eyes with determination.

"Shindou Hikaru, if we don't get on with this tonight, no one in this house will be getting a good night's sleep, _I can guarantee it_."

Though this determination might have been a turn-on for some, it terrified Hikaru, and Akira could actually feel his partner's manhood shrinking away from him.

"Akira...I'm not feeling...so...well..."

"No, Shindou," Akira responded bitingly. "You used that excuse _last_ time. Pick _another_."

Hikaru gulped. His eyes darted around the room, trying to find anything to land on that wasn't Akira's accusing eyes.

"God Damnit!" Akira hissed, banging his fist on the wall next to Hikaru's head before turning on his heel and walking back to his own room. Hikaru trembled slightly when Akira stopped at his own bedroom door to glare back at him.

"I can't force you, Hikaru," he said, with a tinge of sadness. "But you make me feel like shit sometimes."

Akira regretted having said that by the time the morning came, but didn't feel half as bad as Hikaru did for knowing it was true.

•°•°•°•

It was fortunate for Hikaru that their weekly romantic train wrecks seemed not to carry over into the next day. While it weighed on their minds, a little, they were trained to dispel distraction from their intense go training.

It was mid January now, and soon Akira would have to defend the Meijin title over the next couple of weeks.

"Hikaru, where is my suit?"

Hikaru swallowed hard.

"Which suit?"

He knew which suit.

"The lilac one I asked you to pick up from the cleaners yesterday afternoon."

"The purple one?"

"The_ lilac_ one," Akira repeated.

"Akira, you do know that suits come in a stunning array of colors these days."

"Hikaru, lilac is a very dignified and elegant color," he explained, not for the first time.

"Lilac makes you look like a pansy," Hikaru said flatly.

"Convenient, then, don't you think? Now _where_, Hikaru?"

"Hid it in my closet, to the left," Hikaru said, defeated.

"Honestly," Akira sighed, hustling out of the room.

The nest day, Hikaru found himself staring at a pajama clad Waya at way too early an hour in the morning.

"...the fuck, Shindou," he said blearily. "It's 8 AM. And it's not a game day. Why am I upright?"

"Because I'm at the door. Let me in."

As Waya stepped aside, he rubbed his eyes and mumbled, "Doesn't Touya have a Mejin game this morning?"

"Yeah," Hikaru replied, kicking off his shoes. "I'm going later. I need to talk to Isumi while Akira's busy."

"Man, if Shin missed the first game of one of my title matches, I'd be pissed."

Hikaru raised an eyebrow. "Exactly what titles do you have, shithead?"

"Fuck off," he said, batting at the air in front of Hikaru and shuffling away. "What the hell do you need Shin for?"

Hikaru froze. "Oh...stuff."

"Stuff?" Waya repeated, suddenly more awake. Opportunely, Isumi came down the stairs.

"Heeeeeeeey, Isumi!" Hikaru beamed.

"You ready?" Isumi said, smiling, and clearly more of a morning person than Waya.

"Yeah."

"Then let's go upstairs. Waya, we need a few minutes alone okay? You want to lay on the couch until we're done?"

Waya mumbled something, but Hikaru only caught the words, "You owe me" and "interrupting my cuddle time."

Flopping on the couch, he hollered, "Shin, what the hell are you guys doing anyway?"

Hikaru cringed.

"Sex talk."

•°•°•°•

"Agggh, why did you have to tell him that?" Hikaru groaned, throwing himself on Isumi's bed.

"Because," he replied matter-of-factly. "We don't keep anything from one another.

"Not even for me?"

"Not a chance. On that note, you know you should be having this conversation with your boyfriend, and not me, right?"

"I caaaaaan't," Hikaru whined.

Isumi sighed and sat down next to him.

"Okay. So. You've been avoiding intimacy because you don't know how gay sex works? Is that what you said on the phone?"

"I...understand the basic...um...mechanics..." he muttered.

"Have you seen any gay porn?"

"What? No!" Hikaru said incredulously.

"Seriously? Shindou. I have to tell you, this is all rather fascinating. I would have totally pegged you as the pervert and Touya as the prude."

"Well, sorry to disappoint. Call me old fashioned. Besides, I only ...uh... became gay...a few weeks ago." He paused. "Wait a minute. How do you know Akira's _not_ a prude?"

Isumi tried desperately not to smirk.

"Who did you think Akira goes to in order to borrow _his_ gay porn, Shindou?"

"Shut. The. Fuck. Up. You are full of shit. He does not watch gay porn."

"Ask him, smarty pants. Can we get this over with?"

"Sure," Hikaru said, quietly disturbed.

"So, what you know is...?" Isumi asked.

Hikaru paled. "I know that...it...goes...well, I know where it goes."

Isumi raised an eyebrow.

"But! I, uh. I don't understand how you...get it...in."

"Ah," Isumi said. He stood up and ran a finger along the top shelf of his irritatingly neat bookcase. "Here," he said, pulling out a thin black book, and taking a pamphlet out of the back. He shoved it in Hikaru's direction.

The pamphlet was in English, so Hikaru didn't know that the front said "Safe Gay Sex." All he really knew was that the men in the outdated illustration on the cover looked way too happy to be straight.

"You can't read it, but you won't...need...to..." Isumi trailed. Hikaru had already caught sight of the illustrations inside.

"I...see."

Isumi paced around the bookcase awkwardly, pretending to be interested in an old literature book, while Hikaru thumbed through the pamphlet, silent for all but the occasional throat clearing.

"S..so," he finally spoke up. "You use...fingers...to...uh..."

"Stretch," Isumi finished for him, saving him the grief.

"A...ah..." Hikaru said, face bright red.

"So you need...uh...in order to make it...go in...you use..."

"Lubricant, Hikaru."

"Yeah. So, but...Isumi?"

"Yes?"

"It'll still...hurt, won't it?"

Isumi narrowed his eyes. "Shindou? Exactly which one of you is going to be on the receiving end?"

Hikaru looked up, terrified.

"I have no idea," he squeaked.

•°•°•°•

On the car ride from Isumi's apartment to the Institute, Hikaru couldn't help but wonder how much Isumi knew about Akira's sexuality, and for that matter, for how long. He was feeling jealous, but was impervious to feeling any actual ill will toward his friend. Rather, he just felt more sorry for himself.

Akira played a flawless, dominating game against poor Kurata, who had finally reached his first title challenge. Too bad for him that the Meijin title was the one Akira would not be letting go of until he was dead and buried, and no sooner. Hikaru arrived as the players were reviewing the game, and soon they filed out. Hikaru gave Akira a gentle slap on the back as he exited, grinning.

"Good job, champ," he said.

Akira smiled, always appreciative of game praise form his rival.

Hikaru began taking deep breaths to calm himself as they walked across the Institute parking lot. The closer they got to the car, the closer this conversation was.

Seated inside, Hikaru grasped the wheel desperately at ten and two, staring forward.

"Hikaru?" Akira asked.

"A...Akira," he responded. "Do you have...plans...for the rest of the day?"

"No..." Akira said warily. "I was going to clean my room today. And yours, for that matter." He paused. "I haven't the slightest idea how you find anything in that closet."

Hikaru swallowed audibly.

"...th...thought... we could celebrate...tonight..."

Akira squinted, perplexed at his partner's timid behavior.

"I...don't really feel like eating out tonight, Hikaru. I just want a quiet evening at home."

"Ye...yeah," he squeaked, hands churning over the steering wheel anxiously.

"I...meant, though..."

Akira perked up, attentive.

"I meant...something...in...timate."

Akira cocked his head. "What? I didn't catch that last bit."

Hikaru squeezed his eyes shut tightly.

"I've felt really bad about- I meant I haven't let you- but I don't not want to- I just- I'm ready now, so we should have-" Hikaru stopped short of actually saying it, feeling as though he had crashed into the side of a moving train.

Akira blinked. "Hikaru," he said gently."Are you offering me sex?"

Eyes still shut, Hikaru nodded furiously.

Akira chuckled.

"Don't laugh," Hikaru mumbled.

"Oh, Hikaru," Akira said, taking his boyfriend's head in his hands and planting a kiss firmly across his stupid bleached bangs. There were a lot of things he wanted to say, but he stuck with "Thank you." He punctuated this with another kiss.

"Yeah," Hikaru mumbled, putting the car in drive, heart rate returning to normal.

•°•°•°•

Once home, they flopped onto Hikaru's bed, exhaused, but for very different reasons.

"So," Akira began, "you want to tell me what's gotten into you today?" He paused and made a face of concern. "You're not forcing yourself, are you?"

"No, no," he replied, burying his head into Akira's neck. He sighed as it sunk in. He could have just talked to Akira about it. It would have been embarrassing, yes, but he wouldn't have felt so guilty about confiding in someone else. "I didn't know anything, about...you know. Doing it. Until today."

"We're talking about sex, Hikaru?"

"Yeah. I'm sorry. I should have talked to you about it instead of frustrating you like that."

"Yeah. You should have."

Hikaru grumbled and Akira stroked his partner's two-toned hair.

"Is it true...that you...borrow gay porn from Waya and Isumi?"

"What? How did that come up?"

Hikaru leaned up on his elbows.

"For real?"

"Well, yes. Rather, I borrowed it from Isumi. I don't fancy involving Waya in erotica related transactions."

"I don't blame you." Hikaru paused. "Wait. For how long?"

Akira furrowed his brows. "For how long what?"

"Have you been borrowing porn?"

"Wha...well, for over a year? Look, I only borrowed two things, okay? Is this okay with you or what? I won't do it again, if it makes you feel weird."

"So they knew you were gay?"

Akira squinted. "You...didn't, Hikaru?"

"What? No...I mean...you didn't tell me."

Akira sighed, sure Hikaru was the densest man on the planet. "Lilac suits, Hikaru. You said it yourself."

"I don't like to make assumptions."

"Hikaru. How do you think I managed to avoid arranged marriages for the past four years?"

Hikaru shrunk. Okay, so his parents knew too.

"Am I that oblivious?" Hikaru whined.

"Everywhere but on the board, darling," was Akira's reply.

•°•°•°•

Contrary to their original intentions, the two spent the rest of the afternoon talking. It was rare that they learned about one another from direct conversation, instead having accumulated most of their information about one another through years of strange, awkward, circumstantial chasing.

"So, were you...always gay?" Hikaru asked.

"Well, I think I realized it when I was...like...13?" Akira replied, faking the impression that he was unsure.

"So, did you have crushes on guys and stuff?"

"Akira wasn't sure what "and stuff" entailed, but chose not to press the matter.

"Not really," he lied. "Not until you."

"Me?"

"Hikaru, what planet do you function on?"

Hikaru shrunk, embarrassed. "Since when?"

"Since my dad died," he said with a sigh. "I realized I wanted you around for the rest of my life."

"You never made any moves on me, though."

"Oh yes I did," he rebuked. "You were just way too spacey to notice."

"What? Like when?"

Akira rolled his eyes, and proceeded to recite a sampling of six or seven of his attempts at Hikaru's innocence, ranging from getting a little too handsy in an onsen to that time he pretended to be too drunk to make it any further down the hall than into Hikaru's bed.

"And you still put up with me?"

"To this day, Hikaru."

They reveled in silence for a moment, Hikaru's hands tracing nondescript characters onto Akira's chest.

"What about you?" Akira said.

"What _about_ me?"

"Did you have crushes?" Akira asked.

Hikaru made his thinking face. "Not really. I mean, I thought some girls were cute, but, you know, I was pretty into either playing Go or goofing off."

"Hikaru," Akira said seriously. "Do you even masturbate?"

Hikaru paled at the accusation. "Wha- Yes! Of course I do!" He huffed.

"Oh good," Akira said, relaxing back into the propped up pillow. He grinned an extra mischievous grin.

"Show me."

With those words, the next step of their relationship began.

•°•°•°•

End of Chapter Five.

Notes on Chapter Six:

No, I do not write the impending smut. That's what your imaginations are for.

We look to the happy future next, and give Waya and Isumi some much needed attention.

Thank you for following along.


	6. Challenges

•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Author's Note:

Something missing? Oh yes. If you're old enough to venture into the terrifying chasms of adultfanfiction dot com, you might find a naughty little side story there, picking up where the last chapter fell short. I mean, left off.

Finally, our (short) second to last chapter: Growing Together, Chapter 6.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Months of Hikaru and Akira's new-found domestic bliss passed.

Hikaru stopped complaining about Akira's suits, and Akira stopped complaining about Hikaru's saggy pants. In spite of that, as appreciation for one another grew, Akira could be seen sporting a navy suit, once and a while, and Hikaru discovered the invention called the belt.

Hikaru's parents were long of the understanding that they needed to let Hikaru do whatever he wanted and ask questions later. Since it was worked so well the first time (leading to their son becoming a rich, professional go player before he was even 18,) they figured there wasn't much harm he could do from then on. But eventually curiosity got the best of them, and when they finally sat him down to discuss whether he was ever going to get married, the answer wasn't so much a shock as it was a relief. They lamented a bit, as an upper middle class Japanese family would, but in the end, Hikaru was going to do what he was going to do, and as long as he was happy, he could do it.

Years passed. Over time, Akira lost the Judan title, gained it back, and continued to defend the Meijin. He took the Gosei briefly, and the Oza just once. Hikaru held on to the Honinbou title successfully, and stole the Oza from Akira, causing quite a scandal in the go community. They were quite the celebrities by now, mostly because they were talented, but partly because they were young and attractive. Shoujo and josei alike were excited by the knowledge that the two lived together (which had been exposed long, long ago without incident) but the tabloids refrained from saying what everyone suspected.

One night, when Akira found himself alone at a hotel bar with Ogata after an event, the older man said, quietly, with a tinge of guilt, "Was it my fault?"

And Akira, looking longingly out the window at the panorama of Shibuya night lights, replied "Is it something we should regret?"

Ogata eventually found time in his life for a wife, and Kuwabara passed away a year later. Hikaru and Akira were 26 and 25.

It was the first funeral they would attend together since Touya Akiko's, and the atmosphere brought back solemn feelings for the both of them. Akira, the son of Kuwabara's rival, was asked to prepare a few words-all of which fell short of conveying the actual respect he had for the stubborn, fantastic old man.

It was shortly after that when Waya and Isumi had their first big fight.

•°•°•°•

"Waya-kun. Why are you on my couch again?" Akira droned, flicking on the kitchen light to start his morning tea.

"Because Isumi is an asshole," the usually spunky brunette mumbled, muffled through pillows.

Akira proceeded with his morning routine as if it were common for someone to be living on his couch, mostly because this was the third night in a row he'd woken up to find him there.

"Tea?" Akira asked.

Waya and Isumi had never been a particularly passionate couple, having rather eased into a commitment without the fanfare that Hikaru and Akira had required. While there was no dramatic, magical "falling-madly-in-love" moment, that wasn't to say what they had wasn't a good relationship. It had just formed, and developed, in a very different way.

The origin of their relationship was no mystery to the other pair of pros. On Isumi's 21'st birthday, the two got shitfaced and screwed in the back of Isumi's new car, in the dark corner of the parking lot behind the very bar they got plastered at.

What they lacked in fairy-tale-ness, they made up for in trust. The two had been close friends since they were Insei, and by the time they were adults, they knew enough to communicate clearly to one another and never hide anything. So where a brutally passionate (and embarrassing, considering the bruises they sported for weeks) one-night-stand such as theirs might have destroyed any other friendship, they were able to take it in stride.

"Did you like it?" Isumi asked on the phone the next morning.

"Yeah, I did," Waya replied. "You?"

"Yeah, definitely. It was nice."

"You wanna do it again sometime?" Isumi went on, without skipping a beat.

"Sure. But maybe in a bed? I can still feel the parking brake in my back."

The two hadn't bothered to wonder what it meant, or agonized over what level of commitment it entailed. They liked it, so they did it.

Akira had always been peripherally aware of Isumi's tendencies, and immediately noticed when the dynamic softened between he and Waya. Akira's knowing glances had irritated Isumi enough one day, and after uncharacteristically demanding to know what the hell his problem was, Akira simply stated that they were alike, and asked if he should avoid mentioning it to Hikaru. He didn't have to, though, because Waya was a big mouth and told Hikaru pretty much everything. But Akira did make it clear to Isumi that he himself was cozily closeted.

As weeks went on of bi- or tri-weekly trysts, they began talking about what they were going through and how they felt about one another. Waya said he never thought he was gay, but he enjoyed having sex with Isumi, so he figured that was as good an indicator as any. Isumi revealed that he had been pretty positively gay as long as he could remember, and actually, had a little crush on Waya after he grew out of his whiny bitter insei phase. Soon after, Waya complained that he was weary of the commute between their apartments, so they moved in together. What made the transition easy was that they already had a relationship, except now they had sex, too. And without really discussing it, they were sexually monogamous. They didn't have to come out and set rules about it, knowing enough about one another and their values to assume that sleeping with anyone else would be hurtful to the other.

So it was unfortunate that now, after eight years of relatively uninterrupted cohabitive happiness, they were fighting.

"Waya, should I just give you a key?"

"Hikaru, you may not give him a key," Akira asserted, setting the breakfast table.

"I don't want a damn key. But for Christ's sake, Hikaru, put on some pants."

Hikaru sipped his coffee coyly. "My house. Can't make me."

Akira certainly wasn't going to protest.

"So where exactly is this going, Waya?" Akira said after they all sat down.

"I don't know," Waya whined. "He's going to be 30 soon and he reminds me every chance he gets."

"A little too early for a mid-life crisis," Akira mused.

"Maybe. Look, I feel like I'm being pushed away. I feel like he's far away. Even when he's in the room. It's making me fucking crazy."

Hikaru wasn't sure when their kitchen had turned into a relationship counseling office, but he decided that probably wasn't a particularly important sentiment.

"Did you tell him that?" Hikaru asked.

"I tried to. He said something about space. That I should go out and enjoy myself." Waya shook his head. "When I try to talk to him, I feel like we're having two completely separate conversations. He never ends up hearing what I'm trying to say."

Akira glanced at Hikaru worriedly. There was something else to the story, and as much as Akira hated interfering with personal drama, he hated not being able to screw Hikaru over the arm of his couch even more.

That evening, Akira payed a little visit to Isumi, under the pretense that he was returning the pornography he had borrowed years ago, back before Hikaru was gay. So to speak. But Isumi wasn't an idiot.

"Is Waya bugging you guys?"

Akira sighed, rather happy that they didn't need to dance around the issue. Neither were the type to do so, in any case.

"Yes," he replied, "and I'd like to say that I'm only over here because I want him out of my house, but the truth is, both Hikaru and I care for the both of you and would like to see you happy again."

"Thanks for the sentiment," Isumi said dryly, as if he really believed it was the other way around.

"Isumi, what the hell happened? This isn't like you at all."

"I'm going to be 30," he said, pained.

Akira twitched and spun his teacup around absently in his hand. He could see how that could get annoying.

"Yes. And?" he pressed.

"And I'm boring, Touya. I'm going to be a boring old gay man and Waya is going to waste his youth hanging around me."

Akira's temperature rose.

"Isumi. You realize that all of us technically 'wasted our youth' playing a board game, do you not?"

"That's not the point."

"Then what is the point, Isumi-san? That you're being a selfish asshole? Since when did you stop believing that Waya is capable of knowing what is best for himself?"

Isumi sighed, irritatedly. "You don't understand."

"Yes, I do. Look. I was really hoping this was somehow Waya's fault, because I didn't expect such total idiocy from you, but it's not. This is stupid and is no reason for my couch to be monopolized."

"Your couch?"

"Never mind that. You think you feel oh so guilty about 'holding Waya back?' So you push him away? Seriously? When did your sense of logic break, Isumi?"

"Akira! It's not that simple!"

"Yes it is, Isumi! Waya is a big boy. He loves you. He wants to spend his life with you, and when- and if- he does get bored with you? He will tell you. And you deal with it then. Don't be all martyr-y. It's very unattractive."

Isumi fell silent.

"Ugh," Akira grumbled, standing up. "I'm not letting him stay tonight, so you better get your act together and be ready for him," Akira said, heading out.

Isumi was pretty sure that he caught a few mumbled words under Akira's breath as he took his leave, but only seemed to catch the words "fucking" and "couch."

He never would know what their altercation had to do with Akira's couch, but that was necessarily for the better.

Akira also failed to actually return the porn.

•°•°•°•

All according to the natural laws of the universe, Waya made up with Isumi, assuring him that he was not old or boring, but that he was upset that Isumi had just "decided" that Waya was better off without him. Isumi took responsibility for the argument, and Waya made him make it up to him with some choice sexual acts.

...something Hikaru and Akira were not strangers to that night either, over the...well. You know.


	7. Omake: The Divine

Growing Together: Omake

"Hikaru? Do you regret anything in your life?"

Hikaru leaned back in his chair. "I'm sure I don't know the meaning of the word."

"Come on. Nothing you wished you'd done differently?" Akira pressed, in a volume just above a whisper..

"Is this just because talking helps the pain, Akira?"

Akira rolled his head away from Hikaru on the pillow.

"Does it hurt, Akira?"

Akira closed his eyes and tightened his grip on the edge of the bedsheets. "Only as much as it ever has, Hikaru."

Because of their respective lifestyle habits, no one had expected to see Touya Akira go first. But when the stomach cancer became terminal in his 76th year, it was clear that those expectations were meaningless.

Akira had a dignity and grace that carried him through the trauma as elegantly as anyone could be, and even Hikaru had come to accept the inevitable.

"Don't get all poetic on me."

"Then answer the damned question, Shindou."

Hikaru sighed, probing his memory. "I regret fucking up your 28th birthday party."

Akira raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "I can't believe you even _remember_ that, let alone _regret_ it."

"You didn't speak to me for two days."

"Let it go, Hikaru, I don't care." He didn't, really.

"You did _then_, though. And those were two days that I didn't get to have you." He paused. "I'd give... anything for two more days..."

"Hikaru," Akira said, shaking his head, "I told you not to get like that."

"Sorry," he said, failing on his promise not to get emotional.

After a few minutes of tangling their fingers in silence, Hikaru asked again, "Does it hurt?"

"Stop asking that, Hikaru," he replied a little bitingly. "The answer is always yes, okay? It hurts. A lot. I just want you to keep talking to me."

Akira's breaths were calmly labored, his voice hoarse and quiet. "All I want is to keep talking."

"Can we talk about happy things, then, and none of this regret bullshit?"

"Sure, whatever you want."

"Remember the day I'd eaten at my 100th ramen shop?"

"Ugh. Do I ever."

"Come on! It was amazing!"

It made Akira smile, that love of the inane that made Hikaru glow.

"See. You thought it was awesome. You were totally jealous."

"As if, Shindou."

"What do you remember fondly, then?"

Akira closed his eyes and thought.

"Hmm. Remember that time we had sex in the salon after hours?"

"Oh, God, Akira, I was terrified."

"I know, but it was hot as hell."

"How can you even think about sex, you nasty old man?"

Akira laughed as much as he was able.

"Seriously, I has bruises from go stones in my back for a week."

Akira laughed a little more, a little too much, driving him to cough rather violently.

Hikaru jumped up a bit, eyes alight with terror as he waited for the seizing to pass.

"I'm...fine...Hikaru," Akira said, wincing to betray his words.

"Oh, God, Akira..." Hikaru said, pulling Akira's fist to his forehead with both hands. Akira cringed.

"I can't do it. I can't, Akira," he said, beginning to cry.

"Hikaru, no. No, please, don't do this... I need..." he trailed off, exhausted.

Hikaru hiccuped his sobs back quietly, fruitlessly.

"Tell me another happy memory, okay? Please?" Akira begged.

"That three day trip in Oki...nawa."

"That's it, Hikaru. Tell me..."

Hikaru sniffed. "You were so gorgeous..."

"But I was already 34."

"You looked so good, Akira. And we just ran around, doing whatever we wanted, kissing in the restaurant, holding hands in the shopping malls..."

"Not to mention what we did in that hot tub..." Akira added.

"I can't really remember why we picked that trip to forget that we were a gay couple, but it felt so good, loving you out in the open."

"It was wonderful, Hikaru." Akira smiled, remembering.

"I love you so much. I wish I had spent more time..." he trailed off, tears returning.

"Will you kiss me, Hikaru?"

The air grew still in the large, sunlit master bedroom of their home. It was the perfect picture of order, and Akira didn't know, couldn't know, that the rest of the house was in total chaos. It didn't matter, as long as the tiny, shrinking world he inhabited for his dying days was peaceful and well-kept. The two men looked at one another, with all the love they'd ever had for each other and more as the seconds ticked by.

"Even though I'm an ugly old man?" Hikaru whispered.

Akira only closed his eyes and pressed his lips together, awaiting Hikaru's fulfillment of the request.

"Hikaru," Akira said after the kiss ended.

"D...don't..." Hikaru stammered, alarmed by the tone of Akira's voice, something he had learned the nuances of from over fifty years of hearing it.

"Hikaru, I can't stand it much longer."

"Akira..."

"Please be strong, Hikaru, please. Let me go gently."

Hikaru was long gone in tears.

"Hikaru..."Akira said, "Please, Hikaru."

"I'm scared, Akira," he eked out in between sobs.

"I'm not, Hikaru."

He looked up, face red and wet.

"I'm not scared, Hikaru, so you shouldn't be either, okay?"

"Akira..."

"Lay with me, Hikaru. Please. One more time."

Hikaru wiped his eyes with his sleeves and crawled in next to his life long lover. Gently, he wrapped his wrinkled hands around him, shuddering hard when the full scope of Akira's lightness became apparent to him. It was as if he were already a ghost.

He lay there awake for about eight hours, hanging on desperately through Akira's shudders and quiet, inevitable sobs as the last throes of the disease wrenched his frail body. The phone rang a few hundred times, and the sun set. After a few moments of stillness, Hikaru fell asleep. He dreamed of Okinawa. Of celebrating Akira's fifth title. Of their first kiss. Even of that time in the salon, late at night. His brain bounced around in time, the two of them ageless throughout. When Akiko died. When Isumi won his first title. Their 50th aniiversary. Their 70th birthday. Akari's baby, Hikari. That rainy day when a raven haired eleven year old challenged a stupid ghost-haunted boy with loud shouts and no reservations. The day Hikaru promised "I'll tell you, and you alone, one day."

He knew the end was coming. Maybe it had already come. The Divine Move was never a thing to be reached on a physical go board, and if it was, they'd never reached it.

But if there was such a thing as the divine, Hikaru and Akira had known it. In one other's eyes, and kisses, and in every shudder they shared as Akira passed on from this world to the next.

~fin


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